Britney Waller, a reporter from the Sacramento Ledger who also wanted that seat, stamped on Cindy’s instep with her high heel, hard enough to bruise bone. Cindy yelped and cursed at Waller, who was taller, older, and heavier than Cindy. Still, Waller saw something in Cindy that caused her to back off.

  Once seated, her computer cord plugged into the socket behind her, Cindy opened her laptop. About then Bailiff Riley Boone entered the courtroom from the side door, filled his lungs with air, and called out, “Alllll riiiise.”

  The audience stood noisily as the judge came through the narrow doorway from his office and took his seat at the bench. Even from the back of the room, Cindy noted that His Honor Henry William St. John had had a bad night, or maybe hadn’t slept at all. It was clear from the bench that the gallery was packed to the walls, chairs squeezed close together. His Honor was not pleased. He banged his gavel repeatedly, calling out “Quiet,” until the volume of voices dropped to a low buzz.

  Cindy looked up at the judge as he shouted, “You people in the gallery who’ve rearranged the chairs. What we have here is a fire hazard. Bailiff, please clear the aisles and everyone standing at the back of the room. That’s it. Show the nice people out to the corridor, Officer Mack. No one else comes into the courtroom unless they are part of the proceedings.”

  While Cindy was drafting her column, a man standing in the rear of the room called out, “Your Honor, Your Honor, I’m Cory Leach from the Grand Rapids Badger—”

  “Sorry, but no, Mr. Leach. No standing room.”

  Cindy kept her head down, fingers on the keys, setting the scene, describing her observations, quoting the quotable. She was working fast and well when Bailiff Riley Boone brought in the jurors from their room behind one of the oak-paneled walls of 8G. Once they’d been seated, court was called into session. Judge St. John delivered the rules on court decorum quickly, paused to pass his eyes over the room, then turned to Yuki.

  “Ms. Castellano, please call your witness.”

  Yuki stood, keeping one hand on the back of Mary Elena’s chair.

  “Your Honor. The People call Ms. Mary Elena Hayes.”

  CHAPTER 67

  MARY ELENA, LOOKING smart and put together in cobalt blue, stepped out from behind the counsel table and set course for the witness stand. She put her left hand on the Bible, raised her right, and swore before God to tell only the truth. And that wouldn’t be hard for her. It had been well established that Mary Elena had no memory of being beaten and raped.

  As late as last week, after another consultation with Parisi, Yuki and Nick Gaines were convinced that if they didn’t call Mary Elena to tell her story in her own words, the defense surely would aggressively present their side; namely, You asked Mr. Cates for sex, didn’t you? The sex was consensual, isn’t that right? You hold an important job, don’t you, Ms. Hayes? How is it that your psychological disorder hasn’t disrupted your job performance in the human resources department at Raymond James over, what is it, four years? Seems a little handy to have a breakdown at Xe Sogni, wouldn’t you say?

  It was Schneider’s job to bury Mary Elena. When Yuki introduced Mary Elena, she’d present her as credible and the victim of terrible crimes perpetrated by the defendant, Tyler Cates.

  When Mary Elena had settled into the witness box, Yuki asked her to state her name, which she did. Then, “You feel comfortable testifying?”

  “Perfectly. I could get used to all this attention,” Mary Elena said with a smile. She even got a few laughs from the gallery.

  “Mary Elena, you remember what His Honor the judge asked me to tell you?”

  “Sure. It’s about my alters. If they come out, each has to be sworn in individually.”

  “That’s right,” Yuki said. “Okay, what do you remember about the afternoon when you entered a restaurant called Xe Sogni to use the ladies’ room?”

  Mary Elena said, “Well, when I walked in, lunch was being served. I asked the maître d’ if I could use the ladies’ washroom.”

  Yuki nodded and asked Mary Elena to go on.

  “He pointed me to the stairs and when I got to the second floor, I was inside a locker room, and the ladies’ room was to my left. But there was a man near the lockers. I remember that he asked me my name and I didn’t like his tone of voice. I told him my name and kept walking toward the door marked ‘Ladies.’”

  “What happened next?”

  “This… this guy said he wanted to have sex with me—demanded it—and I just… freaked out. He had no right to come on to me like that, and he frightened me. One of my alters came forward and tried to protect me. I lost time. I don’t know how much time or what was happening to me, but I’ve been told that when the police came, I was on the floor, mostly naked and quite bruised. And I do remember this: I hurt everywhere.”

  Yuki stepped aside so that Mary Elena had full view of the courtroom and asked, “Do you see the man who attacked you?”

  Mary Elena said, “There. He’s right there.” And she pointed to the defense table.

  “Are you indicating the defendant?”

  “Yes. Wearing a blue jacket.”

  Tyler Cates didn’t flinch.

  Yuki asked, “He was a stranger to you, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes. A large, aggressive stranger.”

  Tyler Cates shot to his feet and shouted out, “Liar! You’re a stone liar!”

  Mary Elena froze. The judge told Cates to sit down and for Schneider to restrain his client or the defendant would be removed from the courtroom and returned to lockup—indefinitely.

  Yuki thought Mary Elena’s change of tone and expression were extreme as if one of her alters had taken her over. Her eyes were locked on Cates and she looked angry and afraid.

  Yuki said gently, “Mary Elena, don’t answer him. Answer me.”

  “Okay. The first. And only. Time in my life. I ever saw that man. Was in the restaurant changing room. Six months ago.”

  Cates jumped to his feet again and yelled, “Pants on fire, Mary whatever your name is! Try telling the truth. Tell about Brookside Psychiatric!”

  Yuki felt it. The case was falling apart. Mary Elena was no longer Mary Elena. Now, she pulled her knees up to her chest, closed her eyes, and screamed. She took a breath and screamed again. Loudly. Painful to hear. She was Lily.

  Yuki called up to the judge. “Your Honor, we need a recess, please.”

  When Mary Elena’s feet touched the floor, Yuki put her arms around her and walked her to the counsel table. Behind them, the judge used his gavel with meaning.

  CHAPTER 68

  THE EMPTY OFFICE on the thirteenth floor of the FBI’s San Francisco branch had been a spare, unadorned space with two metal desks facing each other, a narrow credenza, and a large picture window with a view of the traffic on Mission Street.

  Since taking over the office, Joe and Bao had spread out to the four corners. The heavy-duty computers with fifty-inch screens covered the desks, a borrowed table, and most of the credenza. Since they had returned from the blue house on Turquoise Way, the sun had risen over the city skyline.

  Joe got up, adjusted the shades.

  “Coffee, Bao?”

  “Thanks, no. I’m still working on the last one.”

  Her phone tootled and she picked up, said, “Hey, Sweetie.”

  Joe left the room to give Bao privacy, and as he headed toward the vending machine alcove, he thought about how rare it was to fit this well with a new partner.

  He and Bao had maximized every minute, going from a hospital meeting to a shoot-out, a gas stove fire, a cop down, a dead perp, and four arrests. But while that was all good, they were no closer to putting St. Vartan’s back in business than they had been at minute one.

  And they were still on it. They’d scrolled through uncountable gigabytes of files as time ambled by. They’d found nothing in all those hours about ransomware, hospitals being held hostage, or Apocalypto. Patients at St. Vartan’s were still in danger. The agreed upon forty-eight-hour window was closing despite a well-meaning tip that hadn’t paid off.

  Joe got coffee from the vending machine along with a bag of M&M’s. When he returned to the office, Steinmetz was sitting on a few spare inches of the credenza.

  He said, “Fine job you two did yesterday. How about a briefing?”

  Joe said, “As it happens, I’m writing up a summary right now. Do you want details or just the bottom line?”

  “Cut to the chase. If I need more, I’ll ask.”

  “Okay, then. Starting after our phone call with you from the scene,” Joe said, “one of the five squatters took shots at us, hit Officer Devon Brown from Glen Park Station…”

  “He’s the one in Emergency?”

  Joe nodded and said, “It was a through-and-through, inner left thigh. Worse than it sounds. The slug hit a juncture of arteries called the femoral triangle. We tied off the wound at the scene and still Brown nearly bled out. As of now, he’s out of surgery, but he’s still in critical.”

  “It’s not on you,” Steinmetz said.

  Joe nodded, but he thought it was. He said, “The shooter is at the morgue.”

  “He’s the one went over the drop-off? Has the body been ID’d?”

  “Keith Ballantine, twenty-eight. Technically unemployed. Glen Park Station contacted his parents. Bao, you’re up.”

  Bao swiveled her chair so she was facing Steinmetz.

  “These are the six computers that were in the house, and they each have enormous storage capacity. I’ve strip-searched four of them so far. There is nothing in them referencing Apocalypto or ransomware, nothing about hospitals at all.”

  “So, what did you find?”

  Bao said, “Well. The young entrepreneurs in the house were in the drug manufacturing and distribution game. All of their business records were on their computers.”

  “Drugs?” Steinmetz asked. “You’re sure?”

  Bao said, “I have another two computers to go through, Craig. But we found pill presses and the chemicals needed to fabricate the pills and package them in the house. A vast mailing list of bulk buyers and repeat customers. They take orders over the web, ship the product out through any courier service. Incoming funds are auto-deposited in one of six banks. Glen Park has processed the four still standing. No sheets, no outstanding warrants. They’re geeks, sir, now with serious goddamn drug and money laundering charges.”

  Joe looked at his phone, which had pinged with an incoming text.

  He said, “Sorry to interrupt, Bao. Chief. Message from CS Inc. They’ve tracked an incoming signal from Eastern Europe that is seeking a target in San Francisco.”

  “Brilliant,” said Bao. “The IP address of the target should belong to an Apocalypto-operated computer.”

  CHAPTER 69

  BAO WONG CALLED Pete Wooten’s direct line and Wooten picked up.

  He said, “We have high confidence that this is it. The coordinates are on target—”

  Sveinn Thordarson joined in, saying, “There’s a Starbucks on Divisadero Street at the corner of Bush Street. Joe, you know it?”

  “Very well,” Joe said. “Their Wi-Fi is strong.”

  Wooten said, “I’m guessing their operator is going to look perfectly natural in there. Probably young.”

  Ten minutes after the call with Cyber Security Incorporated, Joe and Bao drove past the Divisadero Street intersection with Bush and parked across the street from the coffee shop. Bao called Pete Wooten for the second time since leaving the FBI offices.

  “Pete, we’re across the street from Starbucks now.”

  Wooten said, “Bao, assuming you’re still wearing a suit, Joe should go in, buy something, sit down, and text me. The code from Apocalypto is on the subjects’ computer right now.”

  Joe said, “Copy,” and headed across the street to the coffee shop. Bao slid over to the driver’s side in case they had to move fast. And then she watched and waited.

  A few customers drifted out of the store with coffee containers in hand, but five minutes passed and Joe was still inside the shop. What was keeping him? This could be their only shot at Apocalypto. Bao patted the gun on her hip, then opened the car door.

  CHAPTER 70

  BAO WAS WAITING for a break in the traffic so she could dash across Divisadero Street—when she saw Joe moving rapidly toward her. He was carrying something under his arm. Once he reached Bao, he showed her a laptop.

  “You’ve got it? That’s the one?”

  “Better be,” Joe said. “But we still need the operator.”

  He got back into the driver’s seat and buckled up, as did Bao.

  She said, “I’m dying, Joe. Talk to me.”

  “I’ll tell you everything. But first, we have to find the owner of this laptop.”

  Joe flipped on the flashing emergency lights and pulled out onto the road. When the car was in the clear, he turned the wheel hard and headed slowly up Divisadero toward Pine Street. A soft light filtered through the trees that lined the wide two-lane street. Traffic was sparse.

  “Joe?”

  “So when I walk toward the front door, I see through the window that there’s a laptop sitting on a table by itself.”

  “Noooo.”

  “I head for the laptop, but someone beats me to it and takes it up to the barista on the other side of the room. Now there’s another person between us in the line. So when I get to the front, I pull my badge. I signal for the laptop and ask the barista does she know the guy who left it. Could she describe him? Yes, she could. What was his name?

  “She didn’t remember what name he gave for his order, but she described him. White male, five ten or so, chunky build, in his early thirties, wearing jeans and a green windbreaker. I realized I saw that guy leaving Starbucks as I was coming in. I saw him, Bao. But since he wasn’t wearing an Apocalypto sweatshirt, I didn’t think anything of him. Now, we’re going to look for him.”

  A driver behind them honked his horn.

  “Bao,” said Joe. “Flip that guy the bird, okay?”

  She snorted and said, “Joe, slow down, in case we pass a thirty-something in a green jacket.”

  Joe smiled. “Have faith. After I got the laptop, the barista—her name is Sophie—said, ‘There’s a note inside.’”

  Bao picked the computer up off the floor, opened the lid, and saw a Post-it note with a couple of lines of handwriting stuck to the screen. She read it out loud.

  “‘I was here. Where were you?’”

  CHAPTER 71

  YUKI AND GAINES sat at the prosecution table with Mary Elena in the chair between them. She was quiet and as cold as stone.

  His Honor Henry William St. John had once again adjourned court for the day, excused the jury, who were returned to the deliberation room. He offered Mary Elena his chambers until “this mess is resolved.”

  Gaines wrote the word “mistrial” on Yuki’s pad and she put a checkmark next to it.

  Yuki asked Mary Elena, “Would you prefer to wait in my office?”

  She nodded her head vigorously.

  “If the judge agrees, I want you to sit in my office until he is through with me, then I’ll drive you home.”

  With permission, Yuki approached the bench and told His Honor her plan. Moments later, Yuki’s assistant, Deirdre Palmer, was at the double doors. Deirdre was a kind and resourceful person and Mary Elena had met her before. The transfer was handled quickly, and as soon as the doors closed, Yuki returned to her table. That’s when the judge called Tyler Cates, Schneider, and Castellano to the bench.

  His Honor stared .50-caliber rounds through the defendant, saying, “Mr. Cates, this is where your presence in the courtroom ends—with one condition. You swear you will make no more comments unless you are on the stand and under oath. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, Your Honor. I promise.”

  Judge St. John wasn’t finished.

  “If I continue this trial, you will spend the rest of it in a holding cell. No lunch break, no visitors except your attorney. You are dog meat until the jurors have made a decision. Or I will determine that we will have to start all over again. If so, back to jail with you until a new trial is scheduled. So count the months on your fingers. And no discount for time served if you are found guilty. I have a lot of cleaning up to do before I arrive at trial or mistrial.”

  The judge turned his head a few degrees and said, “Mr. Schneider, you’ve been a criminal defense attorney for as long as I’ve been a judge. Today you risked a contempt citation by not shutting down your client and removing him from the court.”

  “I’m very sorry about this, Your Honor.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it. My staff is going to look into this charge your incredibly reckless client has made. We should know by tomorrow if there is such a place as Brookside Psychiatric, and whether or not Ms. Hayes was a patient there—and same for Mr. Cates, and if so at the same time. The results of that research will help me determine how we proceed.”

  Cates said, “Your Honor, I’m sorry I blurted out what I did. She’s making horrible accusations.”

  Schneider pinched Cates’s arm.

  The judge turned his back on the sorrys and excuses and disappeared through the door to his chambers. As guards took Cates to holding, Gaines and Yuki gathered their things, left the courtroom, and headed toward the DA’s offices.

  At the same time, Red Dog was coming toward them in the corridor. In Yuki’s current state, Len Parisi looked like a bristling, rust-colored heart attack.

  Yuki said to Red Dog, “Len, Gaines will fill you in. I have to make a call. Deirdre is keeping Mary Elena company for a few minutes in my office and then I’m going to drive her home.”

  Turning away from Parisi, Yuki spoke into her phone. “Dr. Aronson, its ADA Castellano. I need your help.”

  The frightening scene in the courtroom played over and over again in Yuki’s mind as she drove a silent Mary Elena to her apartment. Yuki felt that she had set a bear trap for herself then walked right into it. Could she have known?